Warmth in Winter
by RougeAngleOfSatin
Summary: When Madara returns to Konoha after a long mission, Hashirama is waiting for him. Hashirama/Madara. Unrepentant fluff.


A/N: Written for the HashiMada Holiday Swap on tumblr. (I need to learn how to come up with decent titles.)

**This fic has been translated into Russian by Shadow368** (see my profile).

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It starts snowing not long after Madara crosses the border back into Fire Country. Softly at first, fat flakes drifting down to melt against his cheeks. Before long the air is swarming with them. The world loses colour as he runs. His hair is thick with ice, and a dusting of snow falls from his shoulders with every step. It's a relief when he finally reaches the heartland forests, where the trees grow so large and so close together that he's sheltered from the worst of it.

Night falls. Madara shivers, damp cloth freezing against the skin of his legs. He stops to make camp only briefly: he's warmer when he's moving, and he has no desire to fall asleep and freeze to death. Besides, he would be home sooner rather than later.

He'd left for Earth Country a month ago, to bring aid to some shinobi there who'd built a few huts in the mountains and declared themselves a Hidden Village too. They even had a 'Tsuchikage'. (No sense of originality whatsoever.) But they also had problems with a coalition of shinobi clans who wished to displace the current Earth daimyo and substitute their own.

"We should send aid immediately," Hashirama had said, seeming more pleased that their idea was catching on than he was concerned about the plight of the Earth shinobi. "We want to foster good relations as soon as possible. I'd go myself but…"

"The Hokage stays in the village," Madara finished for him, flicking at the corners of a few papers sitting on top of the stack in Hashirama's overflowing in-tray. Once again he remembered why he'd been glad to escape the appointment. At least, the desire not to be confined to a desk was part of the reason. "For someone who's been head of his clan all these years, you're quite bad at delegating."

Hashirama eyes were dark and soulful when they met his own. "Or I'm loath to see you go."

As usual, Madara acted as though Hashirama's sappy declarations of affection had no effect on him. "You mean to send me?"

"There's no one else I'd trust with this."

Madara could not help but feel sceptical. He trusted Hashirama as much as he trusted anyone, which was a great deal less than he trusted himself. And he understood that diplomatic lies were common among those intimate with each other. But despite that, the words had pleased him.

Cold though it is, he doesn't make a fire– the wood is damp and it wouldn't be much use anyway. He has fire in his blood. It's an old Uchiha trick to form fire-natured chakra and release a trickle of it through the chakra points in the hands and feet. It's useful to an extent, but turn up the heat too much and you risk setting your clothes on fire. Madara sneezes, and brushes a bedraggled lock of hair out of his face. The sooner he's back in Konoha and out of this damn snow, the better.

When he walks through the village gates the next morning, Hashirama is waiting for him. Madara stops and drinks up the sight of him after all the days he's spent away. His heart quivers against his ribcage. It's ridiculous – a month is nothing, they've spent longer without seeing each other, but he's grown accustomed to seeing Hashirama's face every day, so when Hashirama steps closer and pulls him into a hug, he returns it, if a bit awkwardly.

"How did you know I was back?" he asks when Hashirama finally lets go.

His lover is not content to stop touching him yet, brushing snow off his shoulder and resting his hand there lightly. "Tobirama said he sensed you coming. I thought I'd come and greet you."

The scarf Hashirama is wearing looks like it was knitted by someone's colour-blind grandmother and above it his cheeks are raw with cold. There's snow in his hair, and he's shivering. "How long have you been standing out here?" asks Madara.

"Not long," Hashirama says quickly. "And never mind about me, _you_ are frozen. Let's head in."

They go to Madara's house both because it's closer and because that way Madara can go straight to bed after telling Hashirama about his mission. To sleep, he adds quickly when he sees the gleam in Hashirama's eyes. As much as the idea of a proper welcome home is appealing, Madara suspects that he's tired enough that he'll fall asleep during the foreplay, and he's not sure Hashirama's ego can recover from such a wounding.

Warmth washes over him the moment he opens the front door. Braziers full of glowing coals send waves of heat throughout the house. Madara has only ever owned one brazier. As if that were not clue enough, there is a folded pile of blankets and a pot of tea on the hearth. Madara stares at the arrangement for a moment, then smirks. "Oh no, you weren't waiting long at all."

Hashirama's expression is deadly serious as he steps into Madara's personal space once more. In battle or in bed, that face never fails to make Madara shiver. The other never wears gloves, even in weather like this and his roughened fingertips are cold as they glide down Madara's jaw. "I missed you."

Madara doesn't say anything in reply and just tangles his fingers in the hair at the base of Hashirama's neck, pulling him into a kiss. It's a slow, sultry sort of kiss, the kind that can go anywhere or nowhere – for now it goes nowhere. Well, mostly nowhere. Madara adjusts himself discreetly once he's left the room.

After changing his clothes for something dryer, he joins Hashirama by the fire, wrapping a blanket around himself and accepting the offered tea with quiet thanks. The warmth seeps into him and makes him drowsy, but he forces himself to stay alert enough to deliver his mission report. "It was just finding them that took so long, that pass is like a maze. In the end I got tired of the rats escaping back to their holes and knocked down the mountain range."

Hashirama stares at him, since this is entirely possible. He and Madara are a thorn in the side of cartographers everywhere. "That's…well…"

"I'm joking. There was no need." Madara sips his tea. "They owe us now."

"Good." Hashirama scoots over, so that they're shoulder to shoulder and starts opening Madara's blanket cocoon.

Hashirama's actions let in a draft. "What are you doing?" Madara grumbles and draws his blanket around himself more tightly. Unfortunately, Hashirama has known his ribs are ticklish since they were children and he exploits this often. His fingers wriggle mercilessly against Madara's sides until Madara growls and goes to hit him. But this is the opening Hashirama sought, yanking on the blanket before slipping under it and drawing it around them both.

"I'm cold," he says, wearing an innocent expression better suited to some fuzzy woodland creature. Madara does nothing but narrow his eyes and plan to take vengeance on Hashirama when he's off-guard. The armpits are his weak point.

Hashirama presses little kisses to his temple. Eyelids heavy, Madara leans against him and rests his chin on Hashirama's shoulder. In truth it's not all that comfortable, but he can't be bothered to move. "Hashirama," he mumbles sleepily.

"Mm?"

"I missed you too."


End file.
